Creative Beginning
by Jay-of-Blue-Writing
Summary: David struggles to turn his notes into a new paper article. However, it could become much more...


**A/N-This was a homework assignment that I decided to publish here. Enjoy!**

* * *

Creative Beginnings

 _So David, how's that paper for that 'job' you said you were going to get?_ David's father asked, looking at his son walk inside through the front door. His dad had been sitting on the the couch watching the New England Patriots play against the Pittsburgh Steelers. 45-42, 4th Quarter, 11:45, Patriots. He held a can of Miller Light in his right hand; the control in his left.

 _It's going…...good. Yeah, it's going good._ David lied.

His father gave him a glare, _Mhmmm._ And went back to watching the game. David watched his father for 4 more seconds. When they were up, his feet went up to the cave he called his room. Mom was out with some friends at some kind of lecture. David approached his door, occasionally gazing at the pictures on the wall. There was his mother and father wedding, then his birth, 5th birthday, 16th birthday, etc. They told a story that he had lived. Now he had to retell a story nearly 78 years old!

 _Just my luck._ He mumbled, grabbing the door knob. The metal ball turns, revealing his room. A poster of Avenged Sevenfold hanged on the wall next to his desk. Placed on top was a lamp; however, it was a poor lamp. Mostly for the fact it had to be replaced with a new light bulb every 4 days. He begged his father to get a new one.

 _When you get a job._ Was the response.

 _I'm trying to._ David thought to himself sitting at his desk. A small globe of the earth, bout 5 inches wide and tall, stood on the other side of the desk. Away from the lamp. Like the Earth and the Sun. A white eraser could possibly represent the moon.

David grabbed his backpack and brought it to his side. It held 5 things. A book called The Things They Carried(Really hasn't been written in, or even looked at), a notebook(Not full of doodles), another notebook(Full of doodles), a math book(Not used as ammo for spit balls), and his Apple Laptop(Which he was nagged for how expensive it was).

 _Alright, let's get started!_ David said with a smile. Laptop on the table, a Coke taken from his mini-fridge, and his notes from his discussions with Mr Hart.

1 hour later, he had nothing. Nothing! How is he suppose to become a journalist if he can't write a simple paper!? HOW?!

 _This is going to be harder than I thought._

Originally, the plan was to take his note's, type them on his laptop, and give it to the school newspaper. But, it changed when he realized that he had become so interested in the story, and took so many details, he had a book! Not article notes! If he was to become a journalist, he would have to cut some 'notes'. But what? His one-on-one with Mr Hart? The parts with Mrs Hart, Marina? The afterword? But they all had some importance with the main story.

If he cut his one-on-one's, you would loose the possible questions and answers. If he cut Marina, then how would he explain the meeting with Bill Brady? If he cut the afterword, how would he explain the effects of the _Black Duck_ massacre? There was only one option he could do: don't cut anything. Scrap it, shelve it, burn it, bury it, rip it, or do whatever with it! David couldn't cut anything from it!

The story was too real, too complex, too connected to cut anything.

 _And now it's gotten harder._ He thought, looking to the blank screen on his laptop.

He spun his chair around, to looked at the geography of his room. The bed, the drawers, the garbage bin, the closet, and the shelves. His bed was a twin set. The drawers were full of socks, pants, etc. The bin full of old fruit, and ripped papers. The closet hanged the t-shirts he wore everyday for the last 10 years. And the shelves.

While each shelves had some trophies, one held some items. Old, but had no dust. Books. Adventure, Actions, Science Fiction, Fantasy, Romance(Mom's gifts), Drama, Horror, and biography. Those same books had inspired him to become a journalist in the first place.

David stood up, eye's fixed on that shelf. He walked to it, and grabbed a small book. _Sherlock Holmes._ A detective book. This has inspired him the most. He flipped to the first page. _IN the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course prescribed for surgeons in the army. Having completed my studies there, I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant Surgeon._

 _That's it!_ David's' father heard that yell, shrugging it off as something stupid. David, however, had realized something. A article was not what his notes needed. A article was not what his notes needed. No, they need something else. He slammed his behind down on the chair. Turing to the screen.

And typed one sentence.

A rumrunner had lived in town, one of the notorious outlaws who smuggled liquor during the days of the prohibition, that was the rumor.

* * *

 _ **Creativity can come from anywhere. Sometimes, we have to read a simple book.**_ _ **.**_


End file.
